10 October 2007

It's was a particularly crap-tastic issue of Seventeen this month. Here are the worst moments...

First Runner Up:

Go ahead, young ladies, and eat that fat-loaded, glucose-heavy box of Whoppers. You just have to make out for an hour to work it off! The magazine doesn't specify if heavy petting burns the same calories as french kissing. Better do the heavy petting just to make sure...

Second Place:

This one comes from an entire page devoted to the wonders of plastic surgery, including obvious boob job proponent Kelly Pickler. And here's a girl who was so insecure about her nose that she got a rhinoplasty at age holycraptooyoung. Doctors make you feel better about yourself! (Take it from a guy with a Springsteenesque schnoz, sister, yours wasn't bad at all.)

Most Moronic:Always running late? Need to get out of the house in a hurry? Just remember the easy acronym suggested by the morons at Seventeen: PMILK. I mean, how do you even say that? Is it "pee-milk"? (Um, ewww...) Or maybe it's "puh-milk." I think the whole point of acronyms is to turn the end word into something you can remember.

What the hell...?

So for a lot of years, my day job was as a writer with the Ledger-Enquirer, a fine newspaper based in Columbus, Ga. Spent much of that as a music writer, and the rest of it writing about pop culture and culture at large. I won some awards and stuff. Whatever.